


A Really Bad Idea

by ElricLawliet



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-31
Updated: 2015-06-03
Packaged: 2018-04-02 05:21:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4047694
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElricLawliet/pseuds/ElricLawliet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which the efforts of the Lieutenants to get Captain Grif to join training go too far.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Four soldiers in four variations of red or blue armor all collapsed onto the floor in one big heap as their CO finally took pity on them, ended their training for the day—twenty five laps more than what their original number had been.

Palomo groaned, rolling over and yanking his helmet off so he could breathe deeply.

“Air...must find...air...world going dark...ugh...”

Bitters moaned, sprawled out spread eagle as he tried to catch his breath, skin red and blotchy from exertion.

“This is...such fucking...bullshit...Washington has spent...even longer with them...than us! He should know Captain Grif doesn't give a fuck...who suffers, so long as he gets out of work! The only ones getting punished is us!”

Smith shook his head, already sitting back up and breathing more evenly than his fellow lieutenants. “I'm sure Captain Grif doesn't mean it! He likely thinks we need the extra training, he's only looking out for--”

“Can it, Smith,” Bitters butt in, still wheezing. “I'll tolerate the pining over  _your_  captain, but I won't let you give yourself a stupid fucking obedience boner for my useless sack of shit commander. Asshole doesn't care.”

“We can't keep doing this,” Jensen moaned. “Agent Washington is going to drive us to our deaths!”

“But what can we do?” Palomo groaned. “Captain Grif doesn't give a shit about anything!”

Bitters suddenly sat up, eyes going wide and mouth spreading into a grin as if he had been suddenly struck by the most brilliant plan ever conceived.

“That...might not be true.”

“I mean other than himself,” Palomo ammended.

“I know. That's just it though, I've been in his bunk right? I know about this thing, keeps it hidden, I asked him about it and he kept dodging the questions.”

“Huh?” Jensen asked, propping herself up on her elbows to blink at the sniggering boy.

“There's this ring he keeps in his sock drawer. I dunno what the fuck it is, it's pretty lame. Looks like he bought it at a fucking carnival. But it's in his sock drawer, and he seems to like it. Might be the only thing we can use to blackmail him.”

Smith frowned. “Blackmail? I don't think that's a good idea. It must be important, if he keeps it hidden like that.”

“Exactly!” Palomo said, pushing himself up. “Which means it might actually work! You know where he keeps it, Bitters?”

He nodded, pulling himself to his feet. “Yeah, and since it's lunchtime Grif is probably in the mess hall. We gotta act fast! Come on!”

He turned, walking with a determination the other three had never seen on him outside of battle. Palomo was right behind him, and Smith and Jensen looked at each other before sighing and following suit. He led them into Captain Grif and Captain Simmons's shared bunk, sliding the door shut behind them.

The New Republic wasn't exactly equipped for the lap of luxury bunk rooms, but they'd done their best for their “Heroes”. The Captains had been given the two biggest rooms they had, though in Grif and Simmons' it was hard to tell for the clutter. One bed was unmade, the other so immaculate it looked like it hadn't even been slept in at all, orange clothes were tossed over the floor, and Jensen grumbled about why he had a dresser at all, a privilege no one under the rank of Captain had, if he didn't even use it.

Bitters waved her off, pulling open the top drawer of said dresser and rummaging through a cluster of badly folded socks and underwear before crying out in success and pulling out the ring.

It really  _did_ look like a carnival trinket; some silver colored metal that the cheap polish had long since worn off of and a plastic ruby, looking like it only might fit on Grif's pinky. Bitters held it up like one would some great treasure, grinning devilishly. Palomo eyed it, looking doubtful now.

“That's it? Dude, he could probably replace it for like, a quarter.”

“Yeah, but there's gotta be some reason he keeps it all tucked up in a sock. It's worth a shot, it might be our only chance to stop having to run fifty fucking laps thanks to his selfish ass.”

“It has to have some sentimental value to him,” Smith said. “And I don't believe this is a good idea.”

Bitters waved him off. “We'll give it  _back!_  Just as soon as he promises to go to fucking training.”

Palomo grinned again, nodding. “Yeah! And then Washington will stop picking on us and the Captain will get his ring back and everyone will be happy!”

“Well then we'd better hurry up!” Jensen said, glancing back at the door. “Lunch will be over soon and Captain Grif will be back!”

The four jumped back into action, Smith slamming the forgotten drawer closed and jogging behind the other three as they ran out of the room.

“How long should we wait?” Palomo asked, already panting from exerting himself again.

“No more than an hour,” Smith said. “I want this to be over with as soon as possible.”

With a nod, the other three agreed, and made their way to the mess hall to try and get a last minute bite of lunch.

  


\---

  


One hour later, the four lieutenants gathered outside of Grif's bunk, two grinning at each other and two just glad that they could get this whole thing over with. Bitters was again grinning wider than just about anyone ever saw him grin, patting his pocket with the ring again. With a flourish he pushed the door open.

“Capta--”

He broke off mid-word, eyes going wide.

The room was an absolute  _wreck_ , even more than an hour ago. Both beds had been completely stripped of their sheets, the blankets bundled in one big ball by the door. The dresser drawers had actually been removed, contents dumped out in mounds which Dexter Grif could now be seen digging through with a gusto and desperation that no one had even seen him eat with. His face was pale and stricken with a look of sheer panic, and he only glanced up at them for a fraction of a second before turning his attention back to the destruction of his room.

“I'm busy!”

Bitters shook his head, clearing his throat as he tried again. “Captain, we--”

“Not now, dammit Bitters!”

But sir, we--”

Grif snarled, jerking up and storming over to the door.

“I said. Not.  _Now!_ ”

He slammed his hand into the lock pad inside, the door slamming shut and locking with a click. The four soldiers stared, dumbfounded at the sudden out-of-character aggression.

“Wh...what...” Jensen stammered out.

Behind them, there was an almost giddy chuckle, and they turned around to see Red Team's Colonel Sargent grinning unabashedly at the door.

“Beautiful, isn't it? Haven't seen him this upset since Simmons hid the Oreos to try to blackmail him into work! I dunno who took what this time, but I'd love to give them a pat on the old back!”

The four blinked as comprehension dawned, Smith and Jensen again shifting uncomfortably while Palomo just huffed.

“It was us, we were gonna give it back if he promised to come to training, but he wouldn't even let us get a damn word in before locking us out.”

“You?!” Sarge laughed. “Oh glory be, what was it?! His secret stash of snack-cakes? His extra Oreo boxes?! His blankie?!”

Bitters dug into his pocket, pulling out the ring.

“This stupid carnival ring.”

They looked back up, waiting for Sarge to laugh again.

But the man wasn't grinning anymore, eyes going wide.

“...Oh you fucking idiots.”

Bitters yelled. “Hey, who are you calling idiots? Ten seconds ago you were saying you wanted to pat us on the back!”

“I thought it would be funny!” he snarled. “I didn't think you were  _that_  stupid, and now you've gone and ruined it for me too! If you think he's pissed at you, just you wait until Simmons finds out. I hope you like working under a man who's gonna be out for your damn blood!”

“What are you talking about?!” Palomo snapped, trying not to look nervous. “It's just a toy! We can get him a newer one for less than a dollar!”

“You really think that's all it is, you morons?! You think he'd keep a toy ring hidden in his socks if it wasn't more important?!”

“What is it then? What does Captain Simmons have to do with it?” Jensen asked nervously, feeling her gut start to sink.

Sarge shook his head.

“He gave it to him! You really think we have the means to get a decent ring? That's all he could get!”

“Captain Simmons  _gave_  it to him?!” Jensen squeaked.

“Of  _course_ he did! That's what you do when you propose!” Sarge snarled. “It's his fucking wedding ring!”

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this took longer than i wanted. but that's because it ended up way, way longer than i intended as well.

Grif was beyond absolutely frantic at this point. He glanced around the bunk, searching desperately for something he had yet to overturn. It had to be somewhere right? It didn't just walk off. Rings don't grow legs and walk off. They would roll anyway. Except it couldn't have rolled because he kept it nice and safe in the only clean pair of socks he had. Kept clean for the specific purpose of being the place of safekeeping for his ring.

So _where in the fuck was the goddamn ring Simmons was going to kill him or even worse he would_ _ **cry**_ _I can't handle him crying over something that actually warrants crying. Dammit god fucking dammit why did armor have to be so skin-tight this wouldn't have happened if I could just_ _ **fucking**_ _wear it like you're supposed to fucking_ _ **do**_ _dammit dammit dammit DAMMIT--_

There was a rough banging on his door, and he snarled. “Go away!”

He grabbed the bedsheets, tearing through them again. One bed wasn't even used, maybe it had fallen out without them noticing? But how it had been there this morning and he hadn't opened the drawer since he'd checked and--

There was another loud, banging knock.

“I'm fucking _busy_!” he snapped, digging again through the pile of shirts. There weren't exactly a lot, the military didn't exactly allow room for plenty of travel bags, so it had to be somewhere he had to find it soon, he had too was it getting hard to breathe? It was shit shit _shit_ no where was his ring, he had to find his fucking--

The door rattled, it sounded like someone had kicked it. Grif gave a strangled, half-hysterical screech as he slammed the door back open.

“ _What do you fucking want?!”_

Sarge stood there, shotgun in hand as he glared at the four New Republic Lieutenants staring shamefully at the ground in front of them. Grif let out a strained, shaky breath.

“I already told them I'm _busy_ Sarge, I don't need to fucking hear you rant about my shitty trai--”

“This ain't about that. How about you kids tell him what it's about, huh?”

The four shuffled nervously, and Grif ground his teeth, glancing back into the train-wreck of a room impatiently.

“Well?” he ground out, foot tapping restlessly. “Spit it out!”

Jensen glared at Bitters, nudging him forward a bit. Bitters grimaced, hand rubbing his pocket. He had the distinct impression that this would go over his Captain far, far worse than that old snack cake. He swallowed.

“So, uh, we were annoyed, ya know, cause Agent Washington was running our asses into the ground cause you wouldn't come to training...”

Sarge snorted, rolling his eyes and muttering something under his breath that sounded distinctly like “don't I know”.

“...And we were trying to think of a way to get you to agree to come to training, and we thought--”

“I thought I said spit it out,” Grif hissed.

“So we were thinking, hey, maybe we could blackmail him. So we were thinking about stuff we could take that you would actually miss.”

Grif looked confused for about a fraction of a second, before realization clicked. His foot stopped tapping, body freezing stock still. His eyes narrowed, and he glared down at Bitters with venom that could kill.

“Go on...” he hissed through his teeth.

“A-and...well...I remembered...when you showed me...y-your bunk...and you checked your...s-sock drawer...” His voice was shaking a bit, rising in pitch as Grif's face twisted and colored in rage. “And, um, well...”

He dug a hand into his pocket, hastily pulling out the battered ring.

Grif snarled.

“You stupid, _stupid_ little fucking--”

Bitters shrieked, dropping the ring and flinching back with his eyes squeezing shut. Grif lunged, but instead of grabbing for Bitters his hand went lowered, snatching the ring out of the air before it could hit the ground.

Bitters peeked open one eye, and was met with the sight of his furious commander right in his face. Grif wasn't tall; he had about two inches on Bitters and a negative foot on Smith, but in that moment all four lieutenants looked about ready to piss themselves in fear.

“Don't let me see you anywhere near my goddamn bunk again. A single fucking one of you. And if I see your fucking face before tomorrow night, Bitters, you'd better start calling Matthews your superior.”

He spun, storming off down the hall towards the armory and leaving four cowering soldiers in his wake. Sarge snorted, shaking his head.

“Congratulations. Tucker ran over him with a darn tank, know that? Never mentioned it to him. Can't believe you idiots managed to find the one thing that'll genuinely keep him pissed at you for God knows how long.”

He shook his head, turning his back on them and marching towards the war room.

The four glanced at each other, faces pale.

“We uh...we r-really fucked up this time...” Jensen squeaked.

Palomo nodded shakily. “...I really hope he doesn't tell Captain Tucker on me...”

Smith swallowed. “We...need to apologize. Immediately.”

“Are you crazy?!” Bitters snapped. “You heard him! Fuck, you _saw_ him! If he sees us in the next year he'll fucking kill us!”

“And he would be justified in it,” Smith snapped. “We made a very poor decision and it obviously hurt him. Even if he doesn't forgive us, we owe it to him to let him know that we regret it. Even if he hasn't come to training, he and the other Reds and Blues saved all of our lives, and this isn't exactly the thanks that deserves.”

Bitters grimaced at that. That was a point even he couldn't argue with.

“...Fine, but I'm staying at the back of the group.”

“No,” Smith snapped. “You are not. We may have gone along with it, and we may be just as guilty, but the idea was yours and it was you who hurt him the most. As his lieutenant you have the most to gain from apology, and you have the most to lose from his anger. You will be at the _front._ ”

Bitters sputtered, but Smith grabbed his shoulders and started pushing him in the direction Grif had gone.

“Now lead the way, Orange Two.”

  


-

  


Simmons had no idea what had happened, and he wasn't exactly sure how to go about fixing it. Grif was standing at his side, barely an inch away, even closer than usual, arms crossed and a glare on his face that Simmons usually equated to being forced to stop eating. But he hadn't complained once, just stalked up to his husband and stood there, seething silently and glaring at anyone who dared to catch his eye. Simmons had been so confused, it had taken him a moment to realize that Grif was wearing his ring.

Which only left him more confused. Grif didn't typically wear his ring outside of the bedroom, it wasn't comfortable under the armored gloves, or even in general since it wasn't exactly the right size. But there it was, right on the pale, freckled pinky of the arm Simmons had given to him in the surgery, thumb rubbing over it occasionally as though to make sure it was there.

Simmons frowned, and between the lull of soldiers coming to put in ridiculous requests for weapons they didn't need, took his hand and pressed a soft kiss to it.

That seemed to do something, at least; some of the tension fell from his soldiers and his stiff posture slumped closer to the terrible slouch that was normal for him. He gave a soft smile, leaning against him until Simmons grumbled and nudged him away.

“I've told you not to crush me, fatass. This is why you never top.”

“No, it's cause if I was on top I'd have to _move,_ duh.”

Simmons snorted, rolling his eyes. He was about to say something else, but was interrupted when the furious glare returned, fists clenching as he glared behind him. Simmons turned, and was pretty confused when the only people in line were their own lieutenants.

“Didn't I tell you to fuck off?”

Bitters shuffled, swallowing and looking more nervous than Simmons had ever seen him. He glanced between them, one hand resting on Grif's arm when the man looked about ready to punch him.

Bitters coughed. “Uh...we just...wanted to say we were sorry.”

Grif's eye twitched, and his soldier flinched.

Jensen glanced at Simmons, before averting her eyes in shame. This only confused him more, Bitters may be a shit who had managed to piss Grif off before, but what could _she_ have done.

“We didn't know that it was that important,” Bitters pushed on, tripping over the words in his haste to get them out. “And that's stupid, cause it obviously meant a lot if you had it in your sock drawer—”

Simmons glanced at the ring, frowning.

“--And we shouldn't have taken it--”

Oh. He was going to kill them.

“--we just wanted you to come to training so Agent Washington would stop trying to kill us--”

Okay, that was a fair point. But did they really--

“But it was still really stupid of us and I guess if you gotta let Matthews take my place that's probably fair, cause he would probably stab himself before ever thinking of taking something from you besides those weird candid pictures he hangs up in his bunk--”

Yeah he probably—wait, what was that--

“But uh. Yeah. We're sorry, Captain.”

“Really sorry,” Smith added, as Palomo and Jensen nodded fervently, the latter glancing at Simmons like she was afraid she would face his wrath next.

The four stood, watching Grif warily. Simmons turned to him, raising an eyebrow. Grif took a deep breath, before finally releasing it in one long sigh.

“...Alright.”

The four stared at him, as if waiting for more.

“...That's it? Alright?” Smith said, blinking.

Grif shrugged. “Yeah, sure. Staying angry takes way too much energy anyway. Seriously though, don't go near my room again.”

Smith stared at him in bewilderment, as Bitters relaxed. “Fuck yeah. Thanks, Cap.”

“Yeah. Now scram. I'm still kinda pissed that I didn't get to see your reaction to what it was, we have a whole running joke on that you know, but now I don't have to make up a reason to tell you to get out so I can make out with this nerd.”

Simmons sputtered, smacking the back of his head. “Grif you moron, you don't just fucking--”

Grif however, put his mouth to better use, distracting him as the four lieutenants ran off.

He could have sworn he heard Jensen giggle something though. Something sounding suspiciously like _Bubblegum owes me ten bucks._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ending it with a kiss. You know I'm all about that cheese.
> 
> whispers please feel free to comment. give me feedback. tell me whats good. or not good. all about that cc.


End file.
